


Young Volcanoes

by incogneat_oh



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Kon is offscreen though, Offscreen Violence, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12765810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: “He ptharted it,” says Damian, all bloody-lipped and thunder-browed. Around Alfred’s gloved fingers in his mouth.“Master Damian,” Alfred says, dabbing the bloody cloth. “What did I tell you about speaking? –don’t answer that, my boy, it was rhetorical.”





	Young Volcanoes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Молодые вулканы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443289) by [timmy_failure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timmy_failure/pseuds/timmy_failure)



“He ptharted it,” says Damian, all bloody-lipped and thunder-browed. Around Alfred’s gloved fingers in his mouth.

“Master Damian,” Alfred says, dabbing the bloody cloth. “What did I tell you about speaking? –don’t answer that, my boy, it was rhetorical.”

As response, Damian pulls away, batting Alfred’s hands aside and scootching back on the cot, out of the old man’s reach. The picture of a fed-up ten year old (essentially accurate).

Alfred sighs, then, taking off his rubber gloves and slinging them expertly into the wastebasket. “At least use the gauze until the bleeding has stopped, young sir. And don’t swallow any blood.”

Damian glowers, shoving a small wad of gauze into his cheek and crossing his arms.

“Whatever he told you, Alfred,” Red Robin, back to the Cave at last, storming over to the medical bay, “You can be  _sure_  he’s lying.” He yanks off his cowl, shooting Damian a filthy look, tells Alfred “He’s half-feral, I am stunned Bruce lets him out of the house.”

“Master Tim–”

“Honestly, Damian, you’re lucky Conner let down his TTK so you didn’t break your damn hand.”

Alfred’s eyebrows fly straight up, and he says, “ _Connor Kent_ hit you?”

“No, it’s–” 

“He _thtarted_  it!” shouts Damian, flying off the cot and upright.

“You  _punched him_ unprovoked, Damian!” Tim shouts back. Turns to Alfred again, says, “Literally out of nowhere, he just  _flew_ at Kon and hit him in the face–  _twice_ , until I could yank him off. I tossed him and he hit his face on the doorjamb, his own damn fault. Now how different’s  _that_ to the story he told you?”

“We hadn’t got to the how just yet,” Alfred says. Brow faintly furrowed in mild concern. 

“It doesn’t matter that you’re Robin,” and Tim’s red-faced now, practically standing over Damian, “You’re not welcome at the Tower if you’re just going to attack my friends without cause– do you know how  _embarrassing_ this is? For me, and for  _Bruce_ , not to mention Dick, who you’re representing– you can’t just  _punch_ people for no reason–”

“He called me a demon!”

Damian’s small voice rings throughout the Cave, echoing and bouncing back to them,  _demon, demon_. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, one side of his face puffy with swelling and gauze.

Tim, stopped partway through his tirade, wrinkles his brow in honest confusion. “We  _all_ call you that,” he says. 

“Not him,” Damian says, fiercely, voice sounding thick. Eyes wet and unwavering. “Not–” and he swallows, looks away. Says, bitterly, “None of them even  _know_ me.”

Tim puts his hand up, rubs the bridge of his nose for a minute. Says, “Alfred?”

“Ahh yes, an urgent task awaits me upstairs,” says Alfred. Giving Tim a bracing pat on the shoulder and making his retreat.

They stand in an uncomfortable silence until he’s gone.

Tim sighs, then, walking closer to the cot. Says tiredly, “Sit.”

“Don’t tell me–” the boy starts, hotly, before seeing that Tim is already sitting. So he lifts himself back onto the cot, but won’t meet Tim’s gaze. Busies himself, instead, with carefully strapping his faintly-bruised knuckles. 

“He didn’t,” Tim starts, hesitant. Short. “He wasn’t trying to be offensive, it’s just.” He puts a hand over his eyes again, tries, “You know how it’s different, when it’s one of us? Like Dick, or Steph, or even Jason? How we call each other names and stuff, but you just laugh or– or I guess in your case, roll your eyes or scowl and move on?”

Reluctant, glancing at Tim from the corner of his eye, he nods. 

“Well,” Tim says, eyes on the Cave’s ceiling now. “The Titans are a sort of family. We do that, too.” And then, turning to Damian, “But you still know that it’s not okay to punch someone.”

Damian doesn’t say anything to that, so Tim pushes, “Come on, all you do it talk about how  _smart_ you are, I know you can use your words and have a successful interaction with someone.”

Damian spits out his bloodied gauze into his palm.

And Tim offers, quietly, “I’ll tell them not to call you that from now on, on the condition that you  _don’t punch teammates anymore._ ”

There’s a long pause, in which Damian does not say anything like ‘thank you’ or ‘I’m sorry’. Instead, eventually, “Did I hurt him?”

“You gave him a bloody nose,” Tim says. “Which kind of freaks him out, as a guy who bleeds very rarely. He heals fast though.”

There is another stretch of silence.

And Damian’s brow furrows again, blood still dribbling sluggishly down his chin. Says eventually, ponderously, “… Is this why I am the only one not allowed to carry kryptonite in my belt?”

“This is  _exactly_ why,” Tim says, standing from the cot. “Ya lil nutjob.”

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/99405135030/young-volcanoes-drabble)


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